Sunday, April 24, 2011
It appears this epic tale is a biography based on my life as a summer fatty. Time for a revelation. It is Easter after all. Thank the Lord I wasn’t chosen as the savior. I have trouble rising on a good day. In any event, the revelation… I fear I am larger than last summer. How is that possible? I can’t be sure. It’s not socially acceptable to be fat between June and August. Or anytime for that matter. However, if one were clever and good looking, such as myself, you could get away with it in the off season. Personally I feel summer should be the off season. I’m so much happier in the winter. There’s Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. What’s summer got to offer but annoying half dressed skinny bitches and people pressuring me to bare all so they can feel better about themselves. Whatever. Heathens. I’m ashamed to even call you out on Easter. But I will. Because I can. Summer is clearly a 3 month skinny girl holiday. Overzealous whores. Given the revelation I’ll be shopping at Forever 2X for my swimwear, I got myself a new bathing suit cover up…aka Dad’s old car cover. It’s like putting a band-aide on blunt force trauma to the head. Not so much…
Whilst out and about in the land of misfits sizes, I noticed something rather alarming and offensive all in the same gasp. Three pronged hangers. Why? When did 2 prongs go out? Whose idea was this? I realize I’m bigger than the average bear but it’s not like a tank top warrants more than 2 prongs! Yet there it was….supported by multiple prongs screaming loud and clear, “You are a fat whore.” Fuckers. Before rushing to judgment (ughum) I ran over to the juniors section to see what kinda hangers they were using. 1 prong. Of course they were. Teenage mutants and Forever 56ers wantin to be 21. I decided to take action. I grabbed a handful of fatty apparel (to include a size132 tank top and biker shorts) and headed for the juniors fitting room. 3 prongs n all. On my way I grabbed a bunch of junior sized onsies. My reasons will become clear shortly. Wouldn’t ya know it…their fitting room has its own bathroom! Clearly for purging when the sizes two’s get a little tight. Sick. I squeezed my fat ass in one of the tiny cubby holes realizing I had transcended into Wizard of Oz Land. Who chooses this lifestyle? Clearly not me. Relax. I wasn’t there to try on size 2’s and slit my wrists in the skinny girl urinal. I was on a mission. Operation Hanger Switch. I hung as many Junior onesies on 3 pronged hangers as time would allow. This is how the other half lives….
WWJD? Well it’s Easter, its 85 degrees and I’m whiter than baby’s ass so I vote go to the beach! That’s just what I did. The unthinkable. I went to the beach in a bikini. It’s April. The skinnies haven’t come out of the closet yet. Just as dark meat has more flavor, my meat looks better slightly well done. It was horrific. Sand flies landing in my crevices, fat spilling out around me…I lasted an hour and had to exit the beach before regurgitating my breakfast. Bacon doesn’t taste good the second time around. Yum. After I inhale my biblical feast of the day I’m sure I’ll need to be on some random diet. New Me Monday represents an opportunity to rise again. I need a diet that won’t kill me… with a side of I can lose 60 lbs in a week. If y’all know of one like that hit me up. In the meantime, I have put the bikini back in the drawer and am denying any reports of a killer whale sighting in Nags Head!
You might recall a slight mention of all that is me running a half marathon a few weeks back. Obviously I’m not dead, so yes, it is feasible to move 856lbs 13.1 miles and live to tell about it. I could spend hours telling the tales of a plus sized runner. But why? I don’t care to rehash the horrific lengths I go to in order to justify the amount of calories I consume in one hour. You want to know how it feels? Wrap your ass in some Saran Wrap, walk outside, hoist your vehicle on your back and run for 2.5 hours. That’s pretty much how it feels. It’s always nice when your brother (running his first ever half marathon) and your Father (currently a card carrying member of AARP & Medicare) beat you. Yeh. Feels good. Thank God Mother was along for the trip. She is a constant reminder that skinny doesn’t give you common sense. I give you race day. Mother is not running. Yet she is up 24 hours earlier than us in order to prepare her face for the finish line. Apparently Mary Kay has several stages of beauty that must be adhered to. In any event, my brother and I left to drop the car at the finish and come back to the house to pick up my Dad. A woman who appeared to be my Mother (wearing a turbo genie head towel) was privy to the following conversation, “I’ll be right back. Just dropping the car and we’ll be back to get Dad.” To this she replied, “Ok.” – signaling a mutual understanding. As Dad came out of the bedroom wondering where we went, Mother looked straight at him and said, “Are they coming back for you?” No Mother. They are coming for you!…
Moving right along…
Mother had 1 job and it didn’t involve running or thinking. Allegedly we were safe. Allegedly OJ is innocent, ughum. Her job was to get to the finish line with an extra shirt for my Dad to wear post race. I even threw her a bone. We live .50 mile from the finish…yet I had my friend pick her up and take her there out of fear she would be kidnapped. You don’t understand…this is completely plausible. I’m not saying she wouldn’t be returned within the hour….but you get my point. So, Mother gets dropped at the finish holding Dad’s shirt and waits for us. All appears to be in order. That is until Dad asks for his post race shirt. Imagine if you will what kind of shirt you would want after running in the hot sun for 13.1 miles. Are you getting a visual? A tank top? A nice cotton tee? Yes, that would have been nice. I give you a dress shirt. A button down full on striped dress shirt. Yup. That’s what she brought him. A dress shirt. To go with his sweaty ass running shorts. You have to wonder, what crossed her mind when she grabbed it? Perhaps she thought we would be going out to dinner afterwards? Yeah…it’s was 9:30am. Maybe she thought he would win his age group and would want a glamour shot? Perhaps. I’m going with she wanted him to do a post race strip tease to pay for gas on the way home. At least this option indicates brain activity. Love you Mother. If this keeps up I swear I’m going to put her on the road with Charlie Sheen and the Goddesses….Duh Winning!